Sent Home Tied Up in a Sack
by gythia
Summary: What if Pippin had been sent home from Rivendell? A dark AU.


Sent Home Tied Up In A Sack

This is an au fanfic, in response to barbarossa's What If challenge: What if Pippin had been sent home from Rivendell?

Merry and Pippin wept as they embraced. "I don't want to leave you," said Merry.

"Go with Frodo. Don't worry about me." Pippin dropped his voice and whispered into Merry's ear, "I'll follow you."

Frodo and Sam each gave Pippin a farewell hug, Strider patted his shoulder, and Gandalf patted his head. And then they were gone.

Pippin waited a reasonable few hours, barely able to contain himself. Then he slipped out of a window with the grace of a master thief, and vanished into the gardens and woods. He had nearly topped the rise at the edge of the valley when the elves caught up with him. He tried to run, but one of them caught him by his waistband and carried him, squirming and protesting, back to Rivendell.

The elves tied his hands in front of him with elven rope, which obeys the will of its master, but Pippin took the knot in his teeth. The magical rope slithered and constricted and fought him, but eventually he worked loose, and was out the window and into the gardens when he was caught again.

The elves carried him back inside. One said, "What shall we do with this expert burglar? Perhaps we should ask Bilbo."

Another said, "I know what will hold him. Lock him in the pantry. There are no windows."

The first elf shuddered. "It is airless and sunless. It would be cruel!"

"Nay! I think such a prison would be to the liking of a hobbit. Pry up the lid on the apple barrel, and he'll be content at least long enough for us to think what else we may do."

At first, the elves were right. Pippin did not mind being locked in Rivendell's pantry. He figured they would let him out eventually, and then he would try again to follow the Company. Even if they were several days ahead of him, how hard could it be to follow the trail of nine beings, even if one were a ranger, two were elves, and three were hobbits?

He passed the time sampling the various ingredients stored in the pantry: wild blackberry jam, yellow cheese, honey from the Beornings, herbal flavored oils, dried fruit, a plethora of different kinds of nuts and seeds, strange spices from far away. But then the candle burned down, and Pippin was left in the dark. He sat on the floor a while, telling himself it was silly to be afraid of the dark after all he had been through on the journey to Rivendell, Old Man Willow and the Barrow-Wight and the Black Riders. But somehow that just made him feel worse.

"Some good I'd do the Company, if I can't even take being locked up in a pantry," Pippin told himself. Then he plucked up his courage and felt his way to the apple barrel, put in a hand, and bit into a nice, sweet apple. "Ha," he told himself after the first bite. "See? Nix to your fearsome dark."

…

Merry kept glancing back over his shoulder, expecting to see Pippin come trotting out of the bush at any moment. Had he been able to get away, and gotten lost? Was he still in Rivendell? Had Lord Elrond really sent him home tied up in a sack? Had he run into trouble on the road, trolls or something?

Boromir dropped back to walk alongside Merry. "Cheer up, master hobbit, your cousin is safer in Imladris than we are here."

"Somehow that's not terribly reassuring," Merry said. He could not let on the Pippin meant to track them. "It's not just that, Legolas and Glorfindel are getting on my nerves, always chattering away in Elvish."

"Yea, I have noticed. And mark you how they combine against the dwarf. I fear strife will come of it."

…

Finally the door of the pantry opened, letting in the light of the cookfires and torches. Two elves stood in the doorway, one with a drawn sword, the other, unusually well rounded for an elf, wearing an apron. The one with the sword gestured for Pippin to get up and come with him, while the cook reclaimed her pantry.

Pippin was brought back to the guest bedroom from which he had escaped earlier. Two elves waited there for him. One had two sets of chains, each with newly forged hobbit-sized manacles. They chained Pippin hand and foot.

As soon as the elves left, Pippin searched through the bureau drawers for something small enough to fit the keyhole of the shackles, and came up with some odd thing the elves probably used for a toothpick or something. He set to work on the lock on his left wrist, and had it open before nightfall. He picked the other three locks at his leisure, and slipped out the window when full dark arrived. But this time there was a guard outside the window, and Pippin was locked in the pantry again.

In the morning, they let him out, and put his hands back in the chains. Except that they only had a few links now, and the middle part of the chain had been replaced by a steel stretcher bar, so that he could not reach one hand with the other. They connected the bar behind his back, so that he could not reach the lock with his mouth, either.

"Very clever," Pippin said bitterly. "Did Bilbo help you figure out how to foil a burglar?"

But the elves with him right then did not speak the Common Tongue, apparently, or else they simply had nothing to say to him. They left the shackles on his ankles unconnected. They led him to the yard, where two more elves on horses waited for him next to two ponies: a baggage pony and a saddle pony, roped together on a lead from one of the elven horses. Pippin was lifted into the saddle, and then tied to it. The caravan left Rivendell, heading west, toward the Shire.

…

Gandalf smiled in mixed relief and disquiet as he looked into the waters of the Mirrormere. "It is good to leave Moria behind. I had such dread of that place. I was sure, somehow, that I was going to die there."

"I too thought Moria was a grave peril to you," replied Aragorn. "Perhaps both our gifts of foresight have failed us."

"Both, on the same topic? No, my old friend, I am very much afraid something has slipped. I was meant to die. The web of fate has dropped a stitch, and we are all off on the wrong thread."

"Surely, if something has slipped, it has slipped in our favor," said Aragorn.

"Has it?" replied Gandalf the Gray. "I wonder."

…

Pippin knelt on the ground next to the campfire. When he was not tied to the pony's saddle, his two elven guards slipped the rope through the loops on his ankle chains, crossing it once over the bar behind his hands. They did not hobble the horses and ponies, he noticed. The elves gave him waybread and water, holding the loaf and bottle up to his face.

"Can't you unlock me now?" Pippin asked plaintively. "We've been on the road for days, and so has the Company. I'd never catch up with them now, so there would be no point in my trying to escape."

"We do not have the key."

"What do you mean you don't have the key?!" Pippin asked indignantly.

"We are charged to return you safe over the borders of the Shire. When you arrive, you will require the services of a local smith, to strike off your fetters."

"I can't believe Lord Elrond ordered that! His fame is for hospitality. That sounds more like King Thranduil's line to me."

"It is not meant as cruelty, young hobbit. If one of us had the key, you might pilfer it from us."

Pippin resolved that if they met anyone on the road, he would cry for help and say he had been stolen by elves.

…

Aragorn asked Gandalf, "Which way shall we take from here? Follow the Bearer and the Quest, or attempt to rescue Merry from the Uruk-hai? Or shall we break our fellowship and each go where he will? For myself, I would have gone with Boromir to Gondor. Now that he is lost, I feel the call of the White City all the more."

"The Ring is beyond our reach now, for good or ill," said Gandalf. "To follow Frodo and Sam now would only draw attention to them. Some of us must go after Merry and the orcs, but not all of us, I think. Let the two elves run swiftly after them, while you and I and Gimli go first to Edoras. The last time I was there, Theoden's chief counselor Wormtongue had gotten far too much power, and now I suspect the traitor Saruman had a hand in turning the King's will. Would that I had the power to undo the spells of Saruman the White! Still, even as I am I must attempt it. And then we three shall go to Gondor, after we save Rohan."

Aragorn nodded. "Ever I am guided by your wisdom." Legolas and Glorfindel sped away after the Uruk-hai, and the last three members of the Fellowship walked on at a pace more suited to wizards and dwarves. Aragorn commented, "Glad I am that the leadership of the Company did not land in my lap after Moria."

"It is a hard choice indeed," said Gandalf, "but hard choices are the lot of a King. You must begin to make them, if you are to be Elessar of Gondor."

"That path is yet before me," replied Aragorn.

…

Pippin and the elves reached the Shire on a blustery day in late fall. There was a gate across the road where none had been before, and their party was met by a squad of Shirriffs with feathers in their caps.

"We are here to return this hobbit, one Peregrin Took, to his own kind. Pray see he does not follow after us."

"Are you really elves?" asked one of the Shirriffs, who was slapped down by his mates for speaking out of turn.

The Shirriff leader said, "No problem there. You, Smallborough, take that lead. Peregrin Took is it? That's a name worth a commendation at least, maybe extra rations. He's on the Sharkey list. Take him to the Shirriff-house, lads. Guard him extra careful. Bunce, you're the fastest, run for Hobbiton and tell the Big Men."

Pippin was led away, still tied to the pony, and the elves turned around and headed back for Rivendell.

Merry was alone with Treebeard. Literally alone; there was not one other ent or Huorn left. They had attacked Isengard, torn it to pieces, and killed most of the orcs and men, but it had cost Fangorn dearly. There was no more forest now. Only dead wood, strewn across the battlefield and floating in the greasy water around the Tower of Orthanc.

"We must not be here when the rest of Saruman's army returns," said Treebeard, sadly, and even more slowly than usual. "The foray went toward Rohan."

"You think they'll be coming back?" asked Merry.

"Perhaps. If they do, I cannot defeat them by myself. This was the last march of the Ents."

"Could we hide?" asked Merry. "See if anybody shows up?"

"You could hide, perhaps," said Treebeard. "You are very small."

"Well, if orcs come back, maybe you could just stop moving. They'd think you were just another dead tree."

"I shall consider it. Let's not be hasty."

"Anyway, can't we take some time to loot the ruins? I'm starving. I'd dearly love to find a storehouse."

"You may sack Isengard while I think."

…

Gandalf the Grey wished he could send that annoying Wormtongue sprawling on his face. But such was not his power, especially over one so obviously spell-warded by Saruman. He wished, too, that he could make a theatrical speech to Theoden, punctuated by effects of light and cloud, but he could not. Only the White Wizard had that puissance.

"Theoden, son of Thengel, will you harken to me? Do you ask for help? Take courage, Lord of the Mark; for better help you will not find. No counsel have I to give to those that despair. Yet—"

Wormtongue interrupted, "No counsel but to turn from our friend and ally Saruman, who is the chief of your order, Gandalf the Gray. No one here will heed your jealous counsels!" Wormtongue turned to Theoden, who looked up at him with uncomprehending eyes. "Do not tire yourself, my liege. I will deal with these irksome guests." He straightened, and signaled his men. "Gandalf, you and your man and dwarf are not welcome in Rohan. Go, and do not return. And do not consider taking the Chief of the Mearas a second time. Shadowfax belongs to the King."

The three members of the Fellowship retrieved their weapons on the way out, and walked away from Edoras. They made for Gondor, but after two days they found themselves backtracking, because Legolas and Glorfindel caught up with them, and told them about the attack of Isengard by the Ents, and the orc host heading for Edoras. They had not taken part in the battle, but had observed it from an overlook, and had gone to find their companions as soon as they realized a battalion of orcs was heading for Rohan.

They returned to Meduseld to find it razed to the ground, all its people slaughtered, save two. A much reduced group of orcs was heading back toward Isengard, and in their midst were two human beings on horses: Wormtongue, in command, and Eowyn, covered with blood and slumped across her saddle unconscious, but bound as if her enemies feared her sword-arm still.

Aragorn yelled, drew his sword, and waded into the orcs without waiting to see if the reunited Company would follow. Gimli took his great battle axe in both hands and shouted, "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai menu!" Legolas and Glorfindel strung their bows and shot many orcs. Gandalf took one moment to sigh before joining the fray with staff and sword.

Such was the power of Aragorn's onslaught that he broke the orcs' line and won through to Wormtongue. The erstwhile advisor of slain Theoden fell to Anduril. The sword of Isildur drank well that day.

Legolas competed with his friend Glorfindel in shooting orcs. Glorfindel had just shouted, "Thirty-one!" when the large orc with the elven arrow in his chest ran up to the archer and spitted him through the gut with his spear.

Legolas screamed louder than his friend as Glorfindel fell. The orc died with an arrow through his throat. The only sound the orc made as he died was a dull thud on the grass. Legolas kept firing until there was no enemy left at which to shoot. Then he fell to his knees at Glorfindel's side.

The two spoke softly in Elvish. Aragorn staggered up, let his sword fall to the ground, too busy to clean it, and handed the reins of Eowyn's horse to Gimli. "Legolas, how bad is it?"

"Through the stomach, I think."

Aragorn knelt and examined the wound. Black and red blood covered Glorfindel. "Yes. It is the stomach."

Glorfindel tried to say something. It came out a sort of soft gurgle.

Aragorn spoke to him in his own tongue. He told him to rest, and that he would ease the pain. He looked up into Legolas's wide eyes. "Say good-bye while you can." Legolas lowered his gaze in grief.

Aragorn stood and lifted Eowyn from the horse and set her on the grass. There were many wounds on her. But they were mostly shallow cuts to her arms, as if her opponents had been afraid of killing her. The most grievous hurt was a swelling on the back of her head. "I believe I can save her," said Aragorn. "Gandalf, will you kindle fire while I search for athelas and water?"

"Of course," said the wizard. Before long he had a roaring campfire going. Aragorn returned, gave what ease he could to dying Glorfindel, and began the healing of the shieldmaiden.

Gandalf said, "With these two horses, Legolas and I will go to see what is to be seen at Isengard. Gimli, you stay here and guard these two. Aragorn will not be in any condition to fight while he is in a healer's trance."

"Aye, I will guard them," promised Gimli.

Aragorn tended Eowyn all through the day and night, and she awoke at dawn. She looked about her at the dead orcs, spat at them, and then wept. "All my people are slain," she cried. "Theoden, killed on his throne, he did not know enough to resist. And Eomer my brother, who had been kept prisoner by the orders of Wormtongue, had no sword when the orcs came for him."

Aragorn held the weeping maiden, until her sorrow turned to despair. "You have healed me, lord, and my strength returns. There is nothing for me here. Take me with you when you ride to battle! You are all I have left."

"Eowyn, you are still gravely injured."

"Where then shall I go, if not with you? Have you seen Edoras, Aragorn?"

"I have seen it. You are right, of course, you cannot return there. But surely not all of Rohan's villages are gone. You are the last of the House of Eorl. You are Queen of Rohan now, and must take thought for your safety and the future of your realm."

"Pah! I have no realm. Saruman is victorious. You go to battle, do you not? Battle before the walls of Gondor?"

"That is my intention, yes."

"Then so do I. For it is before the walls of Gondor that the doom of this time will be decided. You know this to be true."

Aragorn nodded. "Yet you would be a greater help to Gondor if you were to take up the rule of Rohan and summon the Rohirrim. Edoras is a great loss, but it was but one city. Rohan remains, and has riders yet."

"That is true," said Eowyn. "This counsel seems good to me now. I will lead the Eorlingas to battle. To fall at the head of an army is a better fate than to arrive as a beggar before the doors of the stone-city, like as not to be caged within while the men wage war."

"Eowyn, do not throw your life away."

"I shall not, my lord Aragorn. I shall make the Enemy pay dearly. I shall avenge my brother."

…

Gandalf and Legolas rode up to Isengard amid great steams. "What is this mist, Mithrandir? Does Saruman brew some new plot against the very air and water?"

"We shall see," Gandalf replied. When they came to the broken circle of Isengard's fortress wall, they saw that the whole vale of Orthanc was turned into a vast lake, from which vapors and colored lights emerged at seemingly random places. It was almost beautiful, except that great cross-bars of wood, barrels, and many broken things, trees perhaps, and bodies of orcs and men, floated in it. In all the wreckage, only one old tree, bare of leaves, still stood upright. From a pile of stones near the ancient tree, a thin stream of smoke dissipated in the wind.

Gandalf and Legolas looked at the smoke, and then to their wonder they saw it did not come from fallen stone, but from a small gray-cloaked figure sitting at his ease, surrounded by plates and baskets: Merry. He stood up when he saw them, rather drunkenly. In addition to the barrel of pipeweed, there were also two empty bottles of wine sitting beside him. Crumbs and bits of cheese on the plates gave evidence of a fulsome repast.

"A merry chase you led us," said Legolas. "We feared the worst, when we heard that Erkenbrand of Westfold had killed the orcs who captured you, and found you not. And here I find you feasting. Where did you come by the wine?"

"Has your journey dimmed your wits, my good elf?" Merry chuckled. "You find me sitting on field of victory, amid the plunder of armies, and you wonder how I come by a few well earned comforts."

"Where is Treebeard, Merry?" Gandalf asked.

"Right h—wait. Don't be hasty, that's my new motto. First, what happened to the orc foray that went toward Rohan?"

"Dead," replied Legolas.

"It's safe, Treebeard," Merry called up to the old tree by the gate, and Treebeard hoomed and hommed and stretched.

"That is good news, Gandalf," said the Ent. "Good news indeed. As you see, Isengard is taken. But Fangorn is no more. And Saruman is still locked in his tower."

"I cannot master Saruman. But perhaps I can persuade him to return to the good side, now that his army is destroyed. I will go and speak with him. Come with me, if you will, Treebeard; his voice will not be too great a peril for you, I think. And Legolas, perhaps; elven wills are dauntless."

"What about me?" Merry asked. "I've done my share. I have a right to the triumph over Saruman."

"Very well, Merry," Gandalf said, a kindly look on his face, "but have a care. Saruman's voice is his chief weapon."

…

The glass ball rested on a pedestal. Saruman picked it up in one hand, and shoved his prisoner's face close to it with the other. "Look," commanded the wizard. His voice was compelling, irresistible. Pippin looked into the Palantir.

At first the glass was black as jet. Then something stirred within. It held his gaze, and Pippin could not look away. He saw a dark sky, and tall battlements, and forms like bats circling: nine large bats. Then He came. Pippin saw the Great Eye, and Sauron spoke to him in his mind. He asked him who he was. Pippin did not answer at first, but Sauron hurt him; somehow he reached into his mind and turned on that part of the brain that knew pain. So Pippin said, 'a hobbit.' Then Sauron laughed, and looked deep into him. He commanded him to relay a message, and then he gloated over his prize. Sauron's laughter was like knives, and his gaze burned. Pippin felt his mind peeling away, layer by layer, like an onion, the pieces dropping into fire, burnt to ash, blown away on the wind. Pippin gave one piercing shriek and fell back, his eyes staring up unseeing at the ceiling.

He came awake in the black stone room with the pedestal. Saruman was straddling him.

"It is not for you, Saruman! I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that!" Pippin struggled then, despite having someone twice as big as him sitting on top of him, and despite still being restrained with the fetters made for him in Rivendell. There was no thought or plan behind his desperate wriggling.

Saruman slapped his face, hard, three times. Pippin stilled his struggling. Saruman turned his head at a noise, rose, and hastened from the room, shimmering robes flowing. He left Pippin lying on the floor, and the door unlocked.

Pippin staggered to his feet. He could hear the sound, too, now: the sound of Gandalf's voice. He did not think of rescue. His mind was raw from the passage of Sauron's thoughts.

Pippin knocked the Palantir off the pedestal with his forehead. He chased the rolling ball until he could plant a foot on it. Then he let himself fall on his side, and carefully felt behind his back for the stone. One of his hands was too small to pick it up, and the elven fetters did not allow him to hold it with two. So Pippin carefully took the Orthanc-stone in one hand and pressed it against his back.

He stood up slowly, careful not to bend too much and dislodge the Palantir. He crept from the room, and followed Saruman to the balcony. Below him, he saw Gandalf, Legolas, Merry, and a walking tree. Pippin put on a burst of speed and tried to jump under the balcony rail. Saruman grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back into the Tower of Orthanc. The Palantir plummeted to the ground.

Saruman bellowed in rage and struck Pippin violently about the face, head, and neck. Pippin fell down. Saruman kicked him back inside.

…

"Gandalf!" Merry shrilled. "That was Pippin! How did he get here?"

Gandalf picked up the object Pippin had thrown down. "I do not know. But it is time to get out of stone's throw at least. Not Pippin only could hurl things from up there." Gandalf wrapped the Palantir up in a fold of his gray cloak.

"But aren't we going to save him?"

"Not all the forest of Fangorn could break the Tower of Orthanc. I cannot, either. Nor could I duel its master. Saruman the White is a more powerful wizard than Gandalf the Gray."

"But we've got to do something!" Merry cried.

"We will. We will win this war, and then perhaps Saruman will trade his hostage for his freedom."

Merry burst into tears. But he turned and followed Gandalf out of the Vale of Orthanc.

…

Pippin felt rather pleased with himself, despite getting beaten up. The horror of the stone left him shuddering whenever he thought of it, but then he remembered getting rid of the cursed thing, and he smiled. Saruman seemed to forget his existence after his first enraged flurry of kicks, and the next day Pippin dared to hope that the worst was over now. He was still a prisoner, still locked in the vile elf-shackles, and there was nothing to eat, but at least he had managed to strike a blow for his side.

Then the winged demon alighted on Saruman's balcony. A shadow rode its back, utter darkness beneath a fuligan hood, and its shriek was the terrifying cry of a Black Rider. Saruman picked Pippin up and shoved him out onto the balcony.

"Here, foul messenger, take him if you will!"

Pippin tried to scramble back inside, but the Nazgul caught him in its iron gauntlet. It pulled him onto its saddlebow by the bar across his back, and held him there as its flying beast rose into the sky. Pippin tried to wrestle free so that he could fall to the ground and die, but the undead grip of the iron fist was beyond the strength of any mortal being. The only thing that fell from the sky was Pippin's tears.

…

Treebeard set down Gandalf, Legolas, and Merry in a little glade where the trees had no voices. He sang softly in Entish to Merry as the hobbit fell asleep. Then he planted himself near the edge of the woods, raised his limbs to the sky, and passed into treeish dreams.

Gandalf murmured to Legolas, "I believe Pippin found the greatest treasure of Orthanc to toss down to us. Saruman will not be pleased. I shall probe the uses of this stone tonight. Mayhap I shall see what transpires in Gondor, and how fare the other members of the Fellowship. Especially I should like a look at Frodo. And then, when duty is done, I will see if I can cause this stone to look back whence I came, to those shores that I have not seen for an age. Homesickness is not usually one of my failings, but ever since Moria I have had the odd feeling that I no longer belong on Middle-Earth."

"Do you have the sea-longing, Mithrandir?"

"I suppose I do, though for some reason I do not picture a ship when I think of going home. I simply arrive, as if out of the stars. Well, if such desires are to be satisfied, I must finish my task here, and defeat the renegade of my kind." Gandalf drew out the Palantir and looked in it.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then he was wreathed in flame. Gandalf stood up, shouted, "No! I am not ready!" and then fell to the ground, burning with an unconsuming fire. He clutched the stone, and yelled in some ancient tongue, perhaps casting spells, perhaps only shouting defiance.

Merry and Treebeard woke up. Merry jumped to his feet and ran to Gandalf, but Legolas held him back. "No, Merry, fire cannot harm Gandalf, but who knows what it would do to you! Do not touch him!"

Treebeard was rooted to the spot.

At last the stone rolled out of Gandalf's hands. Gandalf lay on the ground, staring up at the starry sky. No one there knew how to wake him up.

For a while, the three thought Gandalf might awaken naturally in the morning. Then, perhaps that he would sleep until afternoon. The following morning, Legolas said, "I fear Gandalf the Gray has been overcome, and will not wake."

"But he's not dead, is he?" asked Merry.

"Nay, he breathes. Perhaps Aragorn could reach him. He is skilled in healing beyond all other Men, and among elves only a few surpass him. We must bring Gandalf to Aragorn. Fangorn, will you carry him, and us, again? It is far from your woods."

"I have no forest now," Treebeard said slowly. "I will carry you all, even as I have done." Treebeard scooped Gandalf up gently, and let the elf and the hobbit cling to his branches. They set off across Rohan.

…

Pippin had been frightened to see the Eye in the Palantir. He had been frightened to feel the icy clutch of the Nazgul at his back as he flew through the night. But when the Nazgul set him down on top of the Tower of Barad-dur, and he looked into the Eye in person, his mind whited out. He passed beyond fear to despair.

The Eye was huge, bigger than a stone troll. It burned without heat, red flames radiating an evil cold. Pippin stood before it, and it spoke to him, within him, echoing through him, so much more powerful than the pitiful imitation in the Palantir that Pippin forgot the power that moved through him was not a part of him. It was everything, everywhere.

Then he became aware of another presence, a dark presence within the universe of fire: the Nazgul. The Ringwraith pressed on his shoulder with one spiked gauntlet, pushing Pippin to his knees. Pippin sagged, and returned to himself. He looked up again at the Eye, and recognized it as Other. Sauron's voice spoke in his head: 'Where is the ring?'

He didn't answer. Sauron twisted something inside Pippin's mind, and he vaguely heard himself screaming, screaming, screaming, until he went hoarse and the sound diminished to a dry scratching. Dimly, he became aware that he was no longer being tortured, for the moment. He was lying on his face on the stone on top of the tower. He could feel the accursed steel bar between his wrists across his back. A brief moment of humor lightened his spirit as he considered how redundant his chains were, lying between the Eye of Sauron and a Ringwraith, on top of a tower full of orcs, in the middle of Mordor.

Then Sauron started again. 'Where is the ring?' And Pippin knew only pain.

…

Aragorn looked out at the ragged army of Rohan, camped at Dunharrow. "Farmers, farriers, stableboys. These are no soldiers."

"The flower of the Rohirrim died at Edoras," replied Eowyn. "And you well know what trouble we had to convince even this many to come. The people of Rohan are not accustomed to following a woman into battle. Not even one who comes to their door towing a wizard, an elf, a dwarf, a halfling, an ent, and the Heir of Isildur."

Aragorn smiled in irony, to hear himself placed at the end of that list, like a capstone. He wondered if that meant Eowyn still had romantic feelings for him. He had thought so, when he met her in Meduseld before the disaster. At times, she still looked at him with more admiration than his prowess in battle warranted. But she shrank from his touch, even though she knew he only meant to help her with his healing arts. Or perhaps because of that, he did not know. It was a relief of sorts, that she no longer pursued him. But he wondered if her grief for her family had only masked her feelings for a time, and if she would resume her awkward pursuit. Aragorn did not want to break her heart.

"It has been a long few weeks," Aragorn agreed. "But even so, we have not gathered enough men. And we can wait no longer. Your army is at its peak now; any further delay and I fear they will begin to desert."

"I know," Eowyn replied. "Their morale is low. Would that I could give them an easy victory to build them up before marching to Gondor. At least the addition of the Grey Company has roused their courage, for now. Thirty knights of the Dunedain are a great increase for us."

"Hmm. But I must take the Rangers away again. There is no choice, Eowyn: without more troops, you will be leading your people to a slaughter."

"No, Aragorn! Not the Paths of the Dead."

"There is no other way."

Eowyn covered her face with her gloved hand, but presently recovered. "Are you fey, Aragorn?"

"Nay, lady, do not impute your own motivations to me. The cursed army will follow the Heir of Isildur. It is fated. So said the message from Galadriel, and she has the power to foresee the course of all roads, even that road that leads from Dunharrow."

"Then I wish you victory."

Aragorn made ready to depart, taking Legolas and the Dunedain with him. The others also readied themselves to leave, but with the Rohirrim.

As Aragorn led his horse through the camp, he saw Eowyn being sick behind a tent. His heart was moved by pity. Eowyn put up a good front of steely resolve for her warriors, but Aragorn had noticed she barely picked at her breakfast all during this week. Despite her black mood and her nausea, and her natural grief, being Queen seemed to agree with Eowyn. There was a glow about her the past few weeks. Aragorn would even have sworn that her hair was growing thicker.

He went to her when she was done.

"Nervous?" Aragorn asked. He was prepared to attempt to lift her spirits for the coming battle.

But Eowyn snapped at him, "Do not patronize me, Aragorn, please. You are a healer. You know what is wrong with me."

He blinked at her. "Oh. Oh!" He looked away briefly, embarrassed at his misdiagnosis. "I did not realize—I thought—"

"You thought what?" she said bitterly. "You thought I was a maiden?"

"Yes."

"I was. When you met me."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Eowyn, I should have thought to ask. There is still time to aid you, if you will. Another day will matter little. There are herbs at hand in Dunharrow."

"No, Aragorn. I ride to battle, and to death. Wormtongue's progeny will not survive my passing."

"Eowyn…"

"Go, Aragorn. The Dead call you, and the dead call me. I seek now only the long home of those fallen in battle."

"I would not have you die," Aragorn said softly.

"Nor I you. But you comfort me, Aragorn. At least I know for certain, now, that your professed loyalty to your elf-maid is not disgust of me. For you did not know. Now to war." She turned and strode away.

…

The pressure abated. Pippin opened his eyes. He saw grey clouds, and off to the side, the Lidless Eye, its gaze now directed elsewhere. Pippin stared at the sky as unblinking as Sauron. His body still breathed, his heart beat, but blinking was just a little too much. Thoughts returned to him, slowly.

He did not know how long he had been at Barad-dur, nor did he care. He knew that orcs came to feed him sometimes. They dropped bread and flesh into his mouth, and poured in water and orc liquor. At first they had tried to make a sport of feeding him, throwing the food on the ground and watching him eat off the black stone like a dog, his hands still bound behind him. But after a few days of Sauron's interrogation, Pippin had stopped responding to food. Had stopped responding to anything, really, even the questioning. Especially the questioning.

The torture was too intense to allow him to reply. Only when the Eye looked away from him did Pippin have thoughts, and knowledge. He wondered if Sauron knew that. Was he toying with him? Perhaps. It did not matter. Pippin's soul bled.

Sometimes there was pain, and nothing existed in the world but pain. And sometimes it went away, and there was food, and rest. Sauron asked him, 'Where is the Ring?' But all knowledge fled from him when the Eye tormented him. It came back to him only when he was left alone. So there was nothing he could do to satisfy the questioner, no possible way to avoid the torture. There was nothing he could do about anything, so he just lay there, and never moved, or screamed. Pain passed through him like a tide, relentless and overwhelming.

A Ringwraith appeared in his field of vision. It held something shiny, like the silver skin of a fish, set with white gems. It was Frodo's mithril mail.

Pippin wept. The wraith dangled the mithril coat above Pippin's face, turning it in its invisible hands within the spiked gauntlets. "He who wore this was of your kind," said the Nazgul. "A friend, perhaps?" Its laughter was hollow like an old bone.

"Frodo," whispered Pippin.

"Frodo Baggins?" asked the Ringwraith.

"Yes."

"Baggins had the Ring. What did the fool think to do in Mordor? Challenge Sauron, with only one fellow Halfling for his army?"

"No," Pippin whispered.

"What then was his foolish plan?"

"Destroy it."

"Destroy it? Destroy the One Ring?" Fear: it was an odd sound to hear coming from a Nazgul.

The Eye of Sauron fixed again on Pippin, but this time there was no pain. The torture was over. This was merely attention. The Eye looked through him, sifted him for truth and lies as the Maia can do, and finally said to the Ringwraith, 'There is no lie in Pippin's eyes.'

Sauron's gaze turned wholly from Pippin then, and the hobbit relaxed. Again he lay staring at the cloudy sky, as Sauron gave incomprehensible orders to the Ringwraith, and then turned his gaze outward, toward the plain of Gorgoroth. Whatever Sauron was doing, it did not matter. Pippin thought Frodo was either dead or captured, and that Sauron had taken back his Ring. Nothing mattered now.

…

Faramir opened his eyes just as the fire reached him. "Father?" he asked weakly.

Denethor beheld his son awake and alive, and the mad light went out of his eyes. "Faramir?" Then the flames roared up, and the pyre of Denethor and Faramir burned like a beacon. The tomb of the Stewards cracked from the heat and fell inward.

…

'You have done well, Soldier,' said Sauron. 'I will reward you.'

After the interminable torment, praise from Sauron was like rain on a wilted field, like food to a starving hobbit, like religious ecstasy. It washed through Pippin's brain with the same mind-numbing intensity as the torture.

Orcs came then, and lifted Pippin up. They clothed him in black gear and cavalry boots like the Ringwraiths. He stood before Sauron, and it seemed to him that the voice of the Eye smiled. 'Soldier, I am your lord, your god. You have served me well, and for your reward you shall be free."

Pippin's fetters fell from him. He stared at them, amazed. He lifted his hands, and looked at them, flexed them, awestruck that the Eye could give him such wonderful things as hands and arms. Pippin looked up at the Eye of Sauron. "My lord, my god, your Soldier thanks you."

He thought he should love his lord. But there was no answer within his heart. Perhaps, Pippin thought, it would come if he worked at it. Sauron was the ruler of Middle-Earth now, and there was no point holding any feelings for anyone else. And he had given him hands. The terrible elves had robbed him of his hands in the autumn, and Lord Sauron the Great had given them back to him in the spring.

…

Out of the Paths of the Dead and the great river Anduin came Aragorn and the Black Fleet. He commanded the great standard to be hoisted. The corsair ship was now his flagship indeed, displaying the signs of Elendil, white tree, silver crown, and stars, argent on sable. Before him he saw the harbor, filled with orcs.

Drawing upon the knowledge he had gained long ago, when he served incognito aboard a corsair vessel, Aragorn directed his fleet into the harbor without destroying the docks with the under-the-waterline battering rams. He led the men of Lebenin and the Grey Company ashore, and into the fray. A great press of his foes fell to his sword.

He heard the clear call of the horns of Rohan, and won through to meet up with Eowyn's forces. But Eowyn was not there. Nor was Gandalf, or Merry. It was impossible to miss Treebeard, however, taller than a troll and stronger, and even more impervious to arrows. Piles of troll bodies and dead Mumakil were scattered wherever he had passed. Enemies ran from him now, so that he had to chase them if he wanted to kill.

Aragorn caught up with the Ent and asked him, "How goes the battle, Treebeard? Where are Gandalf and Eowyn?"

"Alas, Gandalf fell, thrown from his horse, for no beast can endure the deadly voice of the Nazgul. The Witch-King of Angmar slew him, he whom no man could kill. Yet Gandalf was avenged."

"Ai! Alas! Gandalf slain! That is grievous news indeed! Yet how was he avenged, if no man could kill the Lord of the Nazgul?"

"Queen Eowyn slew him. Merry aided her. She is borne now to the city on a bier, even as is Gandalf."

Aragorn lowered his eyes. "Then even victory is shorn of gladness." He swiped the hair from his face and looked up again. "And what of Merry?"

"I do not know. He is very small."

Then battle was joined again. When it was over, Minas Tirith was burning, and the stink of the festering dead was almost visible, but the victory belonged to Aragorn. With no more orcs or evil men to slay, a sudden weariness came on him. He turned toward Minas Tirith, and for the first time heeded what he saw: above the White Tower of Ecthelion, in place of the banner of the Stewards, the Silver Swan of Dol Amroth floated over the city.

He had thought to pitch his tents on the battlefield before the walls of the city, so that no contention would arise in Gondor over whose rule to follow, his or Denethor's, but the Silver Swan spoke of doubt already rising. Aragorn went up in the city. He found Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, and got the news from him: Denethor and Faramir dead and burned—or in the reverse order, apparently—but Eowyn still lived. Weary as he was, Aragorn went immediately to the Houses of Healing to care for her.

Of Merry the hobbit there was no news until much later. He was found in a byway of Minas Tirith, still carrying his pack, apparently having followed Eowyn's litter and gotten lost at one of the turnings. By the time he was found, he was stone cold. Aragorn had his body placed next to Gandalf's, on display in the palace where Denethor had once ruled.

Treebeard went to pay his respects, and caused a panic when the people of Minas Tirith thought they saw a tree walk away from the Court of the Fountain. Despite the fact that Treebeard's bark was brown, not white, the Men of Gondor had reached a mental saturation point, and a riot broke out. There was much shoving, some jumping from the walls of the city, and not a few slain with swords before it was over. Among those who came to blows were Legolas and Gimli. They had never gotten over their initial enmity, because Legolas had made friends with one of his own kind, Glorfindel, instead.

Aragorn healed Eowyn of her hurts, but he could not bring comfort to her mind and heart. No one now living in the city could do that.

He sent the other healers away, so that they could have private speech. "Eowyn, I know you did not intend to survive the battle. Have you given thought to… your other injury?"

She looked away, shame written plainly on her face. "I cannot. I cannot, Aragorn. I would have killed Wormtongue, if I could. If I had not been overwhelmed by superior numbers. I would have gladly died on the battlefield, and brought the small wretched thing to the hall of the harriers with me. But it is a child, Aragorn. It is a child. I cannot."

He nodded. "Then I hope to attend its birth as your physician, if you would. And if ever I return. Take care of yourself, Eowyn. You are still recovering from the Black Breath, and your broken arm will be long in healing. Tomorrow I ride to the Black Gate."

"I wish I could go with you. To ride to open war is all my desire, and the Houses of Healing are as a cage to me."

"I know. If I were to have one wish for you, Eowyn, it would be that you could find someone to love you, and heal your heart of woe."

"All such wishes are vain. Die well, Aragorn."

…

Pippin felt great pride at being privileged to watch the ceremony of Embodiment. Very few in the Dark Tower were allowed to stand on the pinnacle this night, only the Nine, Durbatu the half-orc Captain of Barad-dur, the Mouth of Sauron who dwelt at the Towers of the Teeth, and himself. His lord, ruler of all Middle-Earth, greatly favored him. Pippin should love him. He must love him. He must! He must make himself.

A pair of Nazgul dragged in a small figure, just Pippin's height. Scrawny, filthy, the starveling creature flopped on the black stone where he was thrown, but his head rose to look up at the Eye. Beneath a wild mop of curls, intense blue eyes stared in horror and madness at the Eye of Sauron.

Pippin recognized Frodo. Something stirred within him, some old grief perhaps, but he shoved it down. He must not feel. Except the love he owed his lord, his god. But he did feel. Frodo was his kinsman, and his friend!

A fine chain lifted from around Frodo's neck. It floated up toward the Eye. Pippin cheered inside, reminded of the moment when his own chains were loosed. Yes! Frodo was free. Now Pippin saw the wisdom and the kindess of his lord, his god, to allow his servant Soldier to witness not only the Embodiment, but the freeing of his friend Frodo from his terrible burden. For the One Ring was nothing but a weight to anyone mortal; only the god of Middle Earth, the great Sauron, could endure it. Pippin could love this merciful lord, surely he could.

The Ring reached the center of the Eye, and then there was a light like the sun. Red flame vanished, and in its place was a beam of white, pure, angelic, beautiful, powerful. Then Sauron stood on the pinnacle, stood with feet and legs and a whole body, and light was about him, like the light of elves but much stronger. On his perfect finger he bore the One Ring.

Pippin's hear swelled within him.

"I am Sauron the Great," said a beautiful voice, full of harmonies. "Worship me!"

Everyone on the pinnacle fell down before him in obeisance. Except for Frodo. Frodo struggled to his feet, snarling "My precious! They stole it from us!" and ran at Sauron. Sauron the Fair smote him down with a languid wave of his hand.

Pippin was mortified that anyone would dare attack his lord, his god. As Frodo tried to get up again, Pippin leapt up and stomped him down. Frodo stared at him in stunned recognition. "Pippin?"

"My name is Soldier." Pippin ground Frodo's face beneath his jackboot.

He had won the battle over himself. He loved Sauron.

The End.


End file.
